


A Man Walks into a Bar

by WitchStuff



Category: Angel: the Series, Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Brooding, Crossover, Drunkenness, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchStuff/pseuds/WitchStuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Angel smiles, cause really. What's being a vampire with a soul and a crucial part in the coming apocalypse who's lost all his friends in a big fight of Good vs. Evil compared with real teenage angst? "Let me guess. This is about a girl."<i></i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man Walks into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Written under the nick WhichWitch in 2005, for an LJ friend who asked for a Duncan+Angel fic, not slashy. 
> 
> Post "Not Fade Away" (for Angel), post" Leave it to Beaver" (for Duncan).
> 
> There's drinking irresponsibly, getting drunk, slurring, some swearing, and teenage angst. And drinking.

A man walks into a bar.

Well… not a man exactly. A manpire, one might say. Been through a lot, this manpire, and not just in the grand scheme of things; in the past few months, even. And that's why he's there. Came to sit at the bar, drink and brood. Waited for hours and hours in his crap hotel room for the sun to come down, so he can come sit right here, at this very stool.

Where somebody else is sitting and brooding already.

  
Which is very rude, or so the 25 mini-bottles of booze he'd drank in his room tell him.

He's not really drunk; he's a manpire after all, but he's just drunk enough to let himself believe that he's shit-faced. And being shit-faced drunk, he wants his damn stool back.

"Hey." He says to the boy who's doing the brooding in his seat. "Hey, buddy. Are you even old enough to drink?"

Boy looks up at him. He's got the big manly beard going, which is impressive, because it's clear that he's barely out of high school. "Yeah, whaddayuwant?" he slurs. Drunk. An American teenager getting drunk in Havana. Now, that's classy.

Our manpire is a pretty classy guy, too. At least, he always thought so. He leans over until he's close enough to that beard he can smell the percentage of alcohol on the breath, and with just the right bit of yellow-eyes flash, he lets his growl do the talking.

The boy quickly slides, well, stumbles to the neighboring stool. Excellent. Nice to know that in this world of never ending apocalypses you can still count on some things to never ever change. Angel – that is our manpire's name – is now overcome with a nostalgic sort of thankfulness, one he's more than happy to attribute to his very drunken state.

"Thank you, son. I appreciate that." He says, slurring a bit, just for good measure. He's not waiting for the bartender to come over, just leans over the bar and grabs himself a bottle of something white with a picture of a flamenco dancer on the label.

"No-not… not a – problem. Sir." The boy stutters, still gaping at this strange, scary man who's wearing a black leather coat when it's such a hot night you could literally fry an egg on something or other.

"Ha!" Angel laughs. The boy jumps a little. "'Sir'. I like that. My son never use to call me 'sir'." Then his brow creases, "Or did he? Hard to remember. I know at some point he did call me "dad" – oh. But that was when he was evil and plotting to put me in a big box at the bottom of the ocean." He pores some of his fine white flamenco drink in the boy's empty glass. "Tell me, son. Did you ever plot to sink your father to the bottom of the ocean?"

"Not that I remember. Seems like a good idea, though." The kid looks at his new drink with suspicion. Then he throws his bearded face back and the drink is gone. "Jesus!" he coughs.

Angel slaps him a couple of times on the back. "Good lad."

"We do have a pool." He manages when he stops coughing. Angle's not sure what's that supposed to mean, but hey.

They drink the entire bottle before the introductions are made. Just names, nothing more, but they are already such good drinking buddies, that that's enough. It's a real connection, what they have. A real special relationship, Angel's sure.

"So what are you doing in Cuba, Duncan?" He likes that his new best friend's name is Duncan. "This your parents idea of a school vacation?"

"I have… stuff." Duncan replies, with a real deep brood. Really, first rate teenage brood if Angel ever saw one, and he's seen one or two.

"Yeah, doesn't everybody."

"I'm serious, man. Big stuff. Had to run away, real far away. That kinda stuff."

"End of the world, right?" Angel smiles, cause really. What's being a vampire with a soul and a crucial part in the coming apocalypse who's lost all his friends in a big fight of Good vs. Evil compared with real teenage angst? "Let me guess. This is about a girl."

Duncan peers over his half-empty glass, squints. "Well, yeah, kinda."

"What about her?"

"Drives me crazy." He scratches his beard. "She thinks I… sorta… like, maybe killed this girl. My - sister."

"Your sister thinks you killed a girl?"

"Yeah. Well, no. Well, em… yeah. Jesus." He downs the rest of his drink, while Angel reaches for another bottle (and growls at the bartender who means to interfere). Duncan lets beard hit bar-top. "It's all so fucked-up."

"Go home, boy. Tell her she's wrong. You're no killer. Just a stupid kid." Angel nudges him a little, and Duncan topples over to the floor, and he wiggles a finger at him as the boy pulls himself back up. "I know about these things."

"You don' know annnythinnn." Duncan mumbles, then he whispers to Angel, "I might've killed her. Might'vvve. Don't know, could be."

"No you didn't." Angel waves the idea away and pores another drink for himself.

"Could be!" Duncan insists, still whispering, and way too close to invading Angel's personal space. "I get these… like, episodes. Ya know? Like I… I'm not me, and something takes over, and I'm like all angry and it could be I killed Lilly even though I would never kill Lilly cause she's my sister and I love her."

He moves away and they sit all quiet. Angel can only frown at this. And Duncan's eyes are suddenly tearful – the fumes from the strong drink no doubt - and he says, "I miss her. And she's the one who wanted to go to Cuba anyway."

And it takes Angel two more shots of something purple to speak again. "So… there's Lilly, your sister –"

"Hey, not anymore!" Duncan says, all cheerful, and he toasts with his glass but doesn't drink it.

"And she drives you crazy, so you – "

"No, that's another girl. My girl – well, no. Not… anymore." He smiles. "She's pretty. A tiny blond girl, like, this high, right? But she's got a mouth on her – "

"Those are the most dangerous ones."

"She takes crap from nobody. Seriously, she can kick your ass." He looks grim, and so very young, when he stares into his drink. He doesn't see the alarmed look on his drinking-buddy's face. "Wouldn't want to cross her."

Duncan, shit-faced drunk, looks up at Angel, who's totally sober, and whispers, "Seriously. I think she has, like, super powers."

 

The End  



End file.
